


Grace and Trenchcoats

by castielnov4k



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Bottom Dean, Bunker, Castiel's Trenchcoat, Confessions, Cute, Dean finds trenchcoat, First Kiss, Fluff, Funny, Grace - Freeform, Human Dean, Humor, Impala, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Love, No Smut, POV Third Person Omniscient, Sam Ships It, Season/Series 10, Sexual Tension gets resolved, Top Castiel, Trenchcoat - Freeform, Undressing, Vulnerable Dean, angel - Freeform, kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 23:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3152261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielnov4k/pseuds/castielnov4k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas and Dean find the remainder of Castiel's grace, having divulged the location of it from Metatron. But will the restoration of Castiel's original angel grace be what the relationship between the hunter and the angel needs to provoke a shift in its boundaries? And, more importantly, will it prompt the return of Cas's original trenchcoat?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grace

"Dean," Cas gasped, eyes widening. "I can feel it. It's here."

"Where?!" Dean demanded, his features hardening into determination as he rapidly cast his gaze all around the abandoned warehouse. 

"I...I'm not sure exactly," Cas said slowly, squinting his eyes and raising his hand to his forehead. Dean studied him attentively, with that familiar Winchester-brand focus etched on his features, just like on any other hunt. 

Cas turned away from him and attempted to push the limits of his angelic senses even further. He felt certain that it was impossible, but tried nonetheless. To his shock, after a moment, it worked and Cas was able to discern its presence again, however weakly. He could faintly sense the quiet thrumming of the energy, small but immensely powerful, and his certainty in his earlier statement strengthened. 

His grace was somewhere in this warehouse. 

And he was firm in the knowledge that he would _not_ be separated from it again. 

"I think," Cas murmured slowly, blindly letting his feet guide him to the easternmost wall. He was aware of Dean following him somewhere in the back of his mind, but spared him no more thought than that. Cas flattened his palms over the flat, cold expanse of bricks, and inhaled sharply. "Yes, Dean, it's here. Metatron hid it here."

"In the wall?" Dean asked, changing the direction of his stare to the wall. "Freaking douchebag didn't mention that when we interrogated him. How do we get it?"

Cas frowned, surveying the bricks. "Not by physical force, if that's what you were considering. Knocking down the wall would have no effect."

"What then?" Dean asked, crossing his arms. 

"I'll have to draw it out," Cas explained in a distracted tone, moving his hands over the wall in contemplation. "Hopefully, it will remember the contour of my soul, and recognise me as its bearer. In which case it will instantly rush to rejoin my body, instinctively desiring to fuse itself with my essence again. The potency of a reunion between an angel and its grace is so immense that it will incinerate any of the remaining grace that Crowley provided." Cas turned around to look at Dean for a moment, as if something had occured to him, while his eyes flickered with hesitant hope. "You should probably shut your eyes during this process. If you...uh...wish to keep them in your head."

Dean sighed, smirking slightly, before turning away and closing his eyes. The smirk disappeared as soon as he heard Cas begin chanting in Enochian behind him, using a hypnotising and mesmerising tone. The tone was to entice the grace out, but Dean did not escape the power of it. Dean could sense light beginning to fill the warehouse, thrumming lowly and with a kind of eager anticipation, so bright that it pierced through Dean's eyelids and turned them red. Instead of relenting, Cas only intensified the influence in his tone, and Dean grew weak at the knees, desperately yearning to give in to Cas's summons, to turn around and rush to Cas, pull him in close, until every inch of their skin was touching, fusing, including their lips...

"Dean?"

Cas had stopped chanting.

Dean's eyes flew open, finding that the warehouse was dark again. He was panting heavily, and his skin tingled, as if he had just touched a live wire. He stumbled a little on his feet. He steadied himself, and turned around. The sight that met his eyes made him dizzy again.

He was facing Castiel, angel of the Lord, warrior of heaven. His face was vibrant, full of life in a way Dean had not seen from him in a long time, framed by his black hair, which was shiny and slightly windswept from the force of the grace. His blue eyes sparkling, as bright and as spirited as the night Dean first saw them. Staring, defiantly, at Dean as he calmly pulled the demon knife from his chest and effortlessly blocked Bobby's crow bar from hitting him. Dean had been intimidated, but enthralled at the same time, feeling his heart race and his breath grow short at the electricity the trenchcoated man radiated, obviously a supernatural force to be reckoned with. That same electricity was illuminating the warehouse now, in a different way to the grace before it, and it shot jolts from the top of Dean's head to the bottom of his fingertips.

Dean blinked, and the scene changed. He could still see his Cas, underneath everything else. The blue eyes were soft and tender, rather than steely and menacing, as they surveyed Dean, and his tone was concerned when he spoke. 

"Dean?" Castiel repeated, his forehead adorably pinched in confusion.

 _Cas_ , Dean thought in relief. _There you are_.

"I'm fine," Dean assured, still feeling like he was in a trance. He shamelessly raked his eyes over Cas, running his hand through his short-cropped hair. "It's just - Jesus, Cas."

"What?" Cas asked, still in that puzzled tone, looking down at his body. "Is there something wrong? Did the grace - did it do something?"

"Yeah," Dean said shakily, with a slight chuckle. "You could say that."

Cas looked at Dean for a moment, tilting his head.

"Never mind," Dean insisted, clearing his throat. "So, you've got your grace back?"

Cas nodded, his rare smile lighting up his face. 

"It's... incredible," Cas sighed happily, lifting his hand to his face to observe it. "I missed it more than I can explain. As soon as Metatron took it from me, I felt empty and unnatural. Its absence was like a chasm, deep and yawning, always present and always aching. The other angels' grace filled it a little, but they didn't even come close to this. This feeling. Now, my world is in balance again."

Dean gazed at Cas in wonder while he spoke. Cas's words had made him feel like he couldn't even begin to imagine the true connection between an angel and its grace. Losing it must have been agonising beyond what Dean could ever hope to understand.

"We should probably go," Cas decided. He stepped closer to Dean and prepared to press two fingers to his forehead. 

"Wait," Dean blurted, grabbing his wrist.

"Why?" Cas inquired, after swaying slightly from Dean unexpectedly grabbing him. 

Dean didn't know. He just knew couldn't bear to return to the bunker and to their lives as they were, yet. He couldn't bear to leave this moment. Dean couldn't be sure what it was about tonight, but he just knew that he couldn't let it pass. 

Not again.

Maybe it was Cas regaining his grace. He had been standing there, looking so damn similar to that night in Illinois, and it had suddenly struck Dean, hard and fast like a slap to the face. Here they were, six years later, and he was still dancing around Cas, ignoring the feelings that flared inside him every time the angel entered his presence, letting opportunities pass by. Half a dozen years later and the angel still had no idea how much the hunter cared for him. Not just needed, although that was a huge part of it too. He needed Cas like he needed Sam. He was his family, and Dean needed his family close. 

As soon as Dean had laid eyes on him in the barn, he knew that this being was about to turn his life upside down. What he didn't expect was how much he wanted him to. 

And that was just it. Dean needed Cas. But it went beyond that. He _wanted_ him too. Wanted every part of him. Wanted to be able to touch him. Wanted to make him satisfied and to hear him sigh his name in the shadows. Wanted to be able to call him his. Wanted to be able to scream it so that every freaking demon and angel could hear, so that it reached the ears of those buried deepest in the Pit and those propelled highest in the sky by their inflated ego, that Castiel belonged to Dean Winchester. And, in turn, he wanted to belong to Cas.

Dean looked down to the wrist that he was still grasping. He relaxed the grip of his fingers slightly, but only enough to slip his hand down and slot his fingers through Cas's, his hand trembling slightly. Of course, their hands fit together perfectly, like puzzle pieces. 

"Dean...?" Cas trailed off curiously, looking down. 

Dean was terrified, but he knew that there was no going back now. 

His other hand travelled to Cas's chin, slowly tilting it up so he was looking at Dean again. Dean moved the hand so that it was lightly resting on Cas's cheek, and gently pulled Cas's face closer to his. Cas looked into his eyes, exhilarated and breathless. 

Dean had been about to make the final move when Cas did it for him. The angel reached up to lightly kiss the hunter's lips, fluttering his hand down onto Dean's hip to steady himself. After a moment of surprise, Dean used his hand to pull Cas's face flush against his, his mouth moving against Cas's as if they had been doing this for years. 

Maybe they could've been. 

Dean released Cas's cheek, certain their faces were as close as they were going to get, and Cas caught the hand, threading his fingers through it. He lifted both sets of entwined hands up, so that they were hovering at shoulder level. Dean smirked against Cas's mouth.

"What's so funny?" Cas murmured, brushing his lips over the corners of Dean's mouth. 

"Nothing," he chuckled. "Just parallels."

"Parallels?" Cas prompted quietly, breaking away to look curiously up at Dean. 

"The hand holding. Something I saw us doing in a musical once. Or at least, a lesbian couple dressed as us."

"I can tell this is a story I need to hear," Cas smiled, his eyes soft and alight. Dean could have sworn that he could see the grace twisting and dancing there, blissfully content. "But not right now."

Dean brought Cas's left hand up to his mouth and kissed it, feeling Cas's eyes follow the movement. 

"Well then I guess it's lucky that we have all the time in the world."

As if roused by this thought, Cas brought their mouths back together, much less gentle than before, releasing Dean's hands. Dean felt a low swoop in his stomach, and suddenly, they were in Dean's bedroom in the bunker, up against the wall. 

_Finally Cas uses his mojo for the right purposes_ , Dean thought wryly. Cas smirked as if he knew exactly what Dean was thinking. 

"I'm not always so virtuous, you know," Cas teased, before roughly driving Dean's hips back into the wall with his own. Dean gasped, a groan slipping out involuntarily, and he nodded his approval hastily. 

"Well that's a relief," Dean growled sincerely, and Cas grinned wickedly. 

Then, Cas kissed him again, effectively shutting him up, the force behind it pushing his head to the wall. Dean groaned again, propelling the sound through Cas's newly moistened lips. Cas angled his chin so that their mouths were slotted even closer together. Dean's lips parted and felt Cas's tongue sliding against his, tasting of clean air and pure water. His mind swam from the taste, and he forgot to think about what he was doing. He had probably thought about doing precisely this often enough in the past six years that now, when it was actually happening, his mind could shut off and let his body completely take control. 

He shoved off Cas's trenchcoat and dress jacket in one go, and eagerly fisted the white material of his shirt, pulling him closer. Cas obliged, flattening himself against Dean so that Dean was completely pinned to the wall. Cas, seemingly irritated by the obstacle that they created, literally ripped Dean's jacket and shirt off, making use of his angelic powers for the second time, leaving the clothes in shreds on the floor. Dean couldn't find it in him to care.

"It's like they designed you for this exact purpose," Dean marvelled as he surfaced for a second, before Cas pulled him right back under. 

Cas took the time to inspect Dean's bare chest in between kisses, taking in every detail. The tanned skin, the V line above his jeans pointing temptingly southward, the rock solid muscle everywhere, except for the middle, where Cas found a small amount of pliancy. He loved it all, although he sensed Dean was self-conscious about that soft spot of skin. He trailed his fingers around to Dean's lower back, dancing them across the skin there, loving the shivers that it sent through Dean's body. Cas seemed determined to touch every part of Dean, as if he was claiming Dean as his completely. Marking his territory. 

Then it was Dean's turn, undoing the buttons Cas's shirt, breaking away from Cas's mouth to kiss at the skin on his chest as he went. Cas moaned, knotting his hands in Dean's hair and pulling him in closer. Dean finally straightened up, meeting Cas's mouth again as he eased the shirt off. He ran his fingers all over Cas's chest and up and down his arms, making sure to explore as thoroughly as Cas had before him. Cas was lean, like Dean had imagined on the nights he spent alone in his room, but surprisingly firm and muscular under Dean's kneading fingers. Then they were against each other again, sliding skin on skin, producing so much heat that Dean was sure that he would wake up with burns tomorrow. Dean's fingers pressed roughly into Cas's waist, and worried for a moment that he must be hurting him, but Cas only moaned enthusiastically in response, willing him _harder_ as his nails bit deliciously into his shoulders. They hungrily pushed and pulled at each other's lips, the soft skin there slowly becoming red and swollen. Their tongues danced a rapid dance, combining and tangling in a bid to taste everything there was to taste. They were breathing hard, but neither relented or expressed any notion to tone down the intensity. 

They were so engaged, it was almost like Famine had dropped into town again. 

Finally, they abandoned the wall, making their way to the bed. They stripped off their pants and shoes as they went, while stubbornly refusing to cease contact between their bodies in any way. As a result, it took them a while to actually reach Dean's bed, and they stumbled several times. Finally, Dean's legs knocked against the mattress and he fell backwards, bouncing slightly as he hit the mattress. He pushed himself higher up the bed as he pulled Cas down with him. Cas adjusted himself so he was straddling Dean's lap, and leant down to bury his mouth in the warm skin of Dean's neck. Dean arched his head back into the pillow, moaning. 

"Cas," Dean faltered, his voice hitching. Cas lifted his head and to his surprise, saw the green in Dean's eyes glistening with moisture, his mouth slightly parted. 

"Shhh," Cas hushed gently, suddenly uneasy. _Had he done something wrong?_ He stooped to trail tender kisses along Dean's jawline to the tear that had slipped down onto his cheek. "It's okay."

"Son of a - Cas, you're so... so beautiful. You don't know how long I've wanted-" Dean broke off, the words seeming to get caught in his throat. 

"I know," Cas soothed, laying his finger lightly over Dean's full lips. They, like the rest of Dean, were perfect, as if their shape had been specially carved from stone. "Me too. It's okay. I was right there with you, remember? I know exactly how long."

Dean caught Cas's face with both hands, and brought their foreheads together, breathing sharply. 

"I love you," Dean impressed soberly, emphasising the words so that each sounded like a promise. Cas felt his breath shorten. Dean's tone was shaky, but there was no trace of doubt in his green eyes as they stared resolutely into Cas's blue. "I love you, Cas."

"I love you too, Dean," Cas answered, slightly raspy. "More than you could ever know."

"Don't leave me," Dean whispered. "Please."

"I won't," Cas promised softly, his own eyes now filling with tears. "I won't."

Dean exhaled, nodding, and arched his head up to slowly meet Cas's lips. It was not a fierce or desperate action this time. The kisses that were being pressed to his mouth were gentle and sweet, and Cas happily leaned into the strong hands still holding his head, so that Dean could take charge of the kiss. Their salty tears mingled on their cheeks as they began to dry. Cas was moving his hands over Dean - over his shoulders, his middle, his arms - and felt the hunter relax everywhere he touched. Dean's tongue traced the skin on Cas's bottom lip, making Cas sigh. 

Cas had never felt so at peace as in this moment. He could feel his grace rejoicing within him, and he felt entertainment somewhere in the back of his mind in how content the grace seemed to be with its unexpected homecoming present. His hands fluttered to Dean's sides, serenely tracing and outlining the muscles there, and Dean gasped into his mouth. Cas could not stop marvelling at how Dean, usually so cocky and headstrong, was so vulnerable and sensitive when it came to this. The fact that Dean trusted Cas enough to expose this side of him made Cas giddy. It was so much more intimate than anything else that had happened between them so far.

It was not long before they increased their pace again, needing to take it to the next level. It was late into the night before they finally ceased, collapsing - exhausted and panting - in each other's arms. Dean's chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared up at the ceiling, a stupid smile plastered across his face. Cas lay on his side, propping himself up with his elbow, and watched Dean with amusement, panting. Dean's breathing eventually slowed, and his eyes closed, thoroughly satisfied. Cas skimmed his fingers over Dean's muscular arms as he slept, utterly adrift in feelings of bliss.


	2. Trenchcoats

The weak morning light filtered through the room as Dean pulled on a pair of jeans. Suddenly, Dean felt Cas's arms interrupt him, winding around his waist from behind. Cas rested the side of his face, slightly prickly with stubble, between Dean's exposed shoulders. 

"Do we really have to leave this room?" Cas mumbled, his words resonating through Dean's body. Dean leaned comfortably back into his arms.

"Mmm," Dean murmured his assent. "Unfortunately. Otherwise Sammy's going to think something happened to us last night." 

Dean felt Cas smile into his skin. "I wouldn't say _nothing_ happened last night."

"No," Dean agreed solemnly, closing his eyes as he smirked. "But I don't think _that_ would be Sam's first assumption if we went missing."

"Guess we can't stay in here all day, then," Cas sighed disappointedly. 

Dean laughed quietly. "We still have tonight." He turned around, slipping his hands around Cas's waist as he winked. "And the next night." He planted a brief kiss on Cas's lips. "And the next night." Another kiss. "And every damn night after that."

"I guess that will have to be enough," Cas conceded, kissing Dean again. His hands, now on Dean's neck, pulled him in closer, and Dean couldn't help but let him. His fingers danced lazily on Cas's hips, above his black pants. 

"Stop trying to distract me," Dean objected softly, but not pulling back in any way.

"I'm just offering the alternative to leaving the room," Cas murmured innocently, his fingers not-so-subtly tugging on Dean's belt loops. "It's not my fault that you're so tempted by the idea of it."

"You're the devil," Dean groaned, trailing one hand up to tangle in Cas's hair. 

Cas laughed. "Not quite. You're thinking of my estranged brother."

After a few more minutes, Cas finally broke away, sighing. "You're right though. We should go. Sam will be worried."

"Screw Sam," Dean rasped vehemently, his eyes now alight as his hands roamed unreservedly. 

Cas rolled his eyes, leaning in to trail kisses up Dean's jawline. "Don't need to. I'm satisfied with my original choice in a Winchester boyfriend."

Dean looked at him in surprised pleasure. 

"You calling me your boyfriend, angel?" Dean purred playfully as Cas reached Dean's lips.

Cas paused to contemplate the question for a second. "Only if you keep calling me angel like that."

Dean nodded in fervent agreement, kissing his angel in a way that he was sure would have scandalised heaven. 

*

It took an extraordinary amount of time to get out the door. They weren't really paying attention to how they were dressing themselves, or rather, attempting to dress themselves. Dean put his T-shirt on inside out, too busy checking Cas out to notice, and after Cas had pointed it out to him, Dean put it on back to front. Cas had to enlist Dean's help buttoning up his shirt after buttoning it incorrectly several times, but Dean was not much help, as he kept pausing to kiss him after each button, prying Cas's lips open with his own. 

"Can you stop sticking your tongue down my throat for five seconds?" Cas laughed, pushing him off for the hundredth time. 

"No," Dean refused simply, bouncing back to kiss Cas again before he could object. He buttoned the last button with a brief sweep of his fingers. 

They stepped out into the hallway, reluctantly closing the door behind them. 

"Ready?" Cas asked. Dean took his hand.

"Ready," Dean assured, smiling. 

They made their way to the war room, where Sam was sitting at the table. A plate, containing a piece of toast, sat next to him, forgotten. Sam was completely engrossed in his laptop, perusing it with nimble movements of his fingers on the mousepad. Dean recognised this look well; Sam was looking for a case. 

"Hey guys," Sam greeted nonchalantly, not looking up. 

"Hey Sam," Dean said, still half in a dreamy state. 

"Everything go okay last night?" Sam asked, his eyes finally flicking to Cas. "Was Metatron telling the truth about where your grace was? Were you able to get it back?"

"Yes," Cas confirmed, blushing slightly as he considered how regaining his grace had taken a backseat last night. Not that he minded. "It was in the warehouse, as Metatron said. It rejoined my body when I coaxed it out. Everything... is as it should be."

He looked at Dean and smiled peacefully. Dean squeezed his hand contentedly. The movement caught Sam's eye, but he didn't appear particularly surprised.

"Anything else happen last night, Dean?" Sam prompted casually, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

Dean looked back down at their entwined hands, pondering.

"Nah," Dean decided lightly.

"Right," Sam accepted with a shrug and his sturgeon face, turning his attention back to the computer. 

Dean shrugged at Cas and started walking them towards the kitchen. 

"Hey, Dean," Sam called calmly after they passed him. "Next time I'm around and you want to desecrate an angel in your bedroom, could you lower the volume? The walls are thinner than you might have thought."

 _There it is_ , Cas thought. 

"Sorry Sammy," Dean grinned. "Can't promise anything." 

Cas blushed.

"I hate you."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean chuckled, and tugged on Cas's hand. "Come on, angel. I'm hungry."

*

A few weeks later, and Sam still found Cas and Dean incredibly sickening to be around. Sam mimed throwing up every time they would start making out on the couch like a couple of teenagers, or hold hands _all the time_ , or God forbid, start talking about which one loved each other more. Right in front of him. 

Not to mention, the amount of times Sam was forced to wrap a pillow around his head in order to drown out the relentless squeaking of bed springs during the night.

Sam even unexpectedly found himself pining for the old days, when the most that he had to put up with was the constant onslaught of eye sex. He had hated being subjected to that as well, but it had to be better than being witness to _this._

But, deep - _deep_ \- down, Sam was absolutely thrilled to finally see his brother so genuinely happy. In his whole life, Sam had never seen anybody have this much of an effect on Dean. Anybody could see that Cas's presence visibly relaxed Dean, steadily and effortlessly removing decades worth of built up tension in Dean's shoulders. The tension that came from bearing the weight of the world. His eyes were slowly regaining what they had been lacking in the last couple of years. They were now, slowly but surely, starting to shine with the hope and life that Sam had seen sparkling greenly in the shadows above him while he was pinned to his college apartment floor, so many years ago. 

And, though it made Sam want to gag, in a funny way it also made him want to smile when he saw them curled up together in some corner of the bunker, one reading aloud from some book they'd dug out of the library, while the other traced the skin on their arms, like there was some mesmerising pattern hidden there that only they could see. 

Anybody could see that Castiel and Dean Winchester were absolutely and irrevocably bewitched by each other. 

Minus the spewing of bodily fluids that usually accompanied witchcraft, of course.

One night all three of them were in the lounge room. A movie was on the TV, but nobody was really paying it much attention. Sam's nose was in a book, while Cas lay on his side next to him absentmindedly stroking Dean's hair, who was seated on the floor in front of him eating a slice of pie. 

" _He's my cherry pie_ ," Dean sang to himself dreamily. " _La la la la la, such a sweet surprise_..."

Cas smiled into the couch like a dork. 

"Dude, come on," Sam protested, setting his book down. "The least you could do is sing the words right."

Dean chuckled, before launching into a rendition that butchered the song so much that Sam had to retreat to the library. Once he'd left, Dean abandoned the plate and motioned for Cas to scooch up slightly, so that he could sit with Cas's head on his lap. Cas closed his eyes as Dean played with his dark hair, sticking it up in various directions. 

After a while, Cas got too warm, and stripped off his trenchcoat. He noticed Dean frowning down at it on the floor, seemingly bothered by it.

"What happened to your old trenchcoat?" Dean blurted suddenly as Cas lay back down.

"Why do you care?" Cas queried, blue eyes amused as they looked up at him. 

"I don't," Dean asserted defensively. Cas tilted his head at him, which immediately persuaded Dean to talk. "I... liked it, is all. It's special. I kind of miss it. This one's too...short. And not 'Cas' enough."

Cas sighed. "I liked it too, but I had to leave it behind when I became human. I couldn't spare the money to launder it."

Dean frowned. "And you never looked for it after you angel-ed up again?"

"It didn't seem appropriate," Cas replied vaguely. When Dean looked confused, Cas sat up and explained. "I wore that coat for so long that it became part of my identity. It felt wrong to wear it when another, much more vital part of me was missing."

"Your grace," Dean realised. "I guess I get that. Well, I mean I don't, not really, but-"

Cas interrupted his babbling with a kiss. It was Dean's favourite type of interruption. 

"But you like it better than this current one?" Dean pressed after he got his breath back. 

"The coat itself, as an article of clothing, does not bother me," Cas assured, tucking himself under Dean's arm and resting his head on Dean's chest, wrapping his own arms around Dean's waist. "But... I admit that there was a certain amount of sentimentality attached to Jimmy Novak's coat. I do miss it." 

Dean nodded slowly, settling down into the couch with Cas as his lips lingered on the side of Cas's head. Then, Cas sensed the gears in Dean's brain turning, and his warm body stirring under him.

"What?" Cas asked, suspiciously narrowing his eyes as Dean got up.

"You'll see," Dean said distractedly, interrupting Cas's protests with a brief kiss on his way out of the room. "I've got to go. I'm sorry."

"Wait, Dean-"

"I love you."

"I love you too, but-"

But Dean had already disappeared around the corner, his keys jangling. Cas could easily follow him, but he decided to let him go on his own. After all, he trusted Dean. 

*

Cas found that not following Dean was easier said than done. Dean was gone for several days, and Cas missed him so acutely that it surprised even him. Dean prayed to him every so often, assuring that he was alright, apologising for the delay and promising he'd be back soon. Cas longed to give in and 'zap' to his hunter's side. 

Sam, finally fed up with Cas's pining, dragged him along to a case he found in Chicago, in a bid to distract him. But they dealt with the vampire nest easily and quickly, and it proved to be a fairly ineffective method. Cas stared dejectedly out of the window as they drove home, and Sam resisted the urge to slap the angel. Dean had taken the Impala, so Sam had instead been forced to pull a canary yellow '50 Cadillac Coupe de Ville out of the garage. Dean had been working to restore it, but it still wasn't working completely perfectly. Needless to say, it wasn't the most subtle ride to roll into town. 

When they got finally back, Sam looked through his window and smiled at what he saw in the shadows.

"Hey, Cas..." he began, but Cas had already disappeared with an invisible sweep of his wings, having seen it too; the silhouette of the black Chevy, sitting unassumingly in the darkness. 

Sam chuckled and made his way inside the bunker, to where Cas was desperately searching the war room for Dean.

"Miss me?" Dean teased, stepping out behind a doorway. His hands were behind his back, concealing a package. He looked tired, as if he hadn't slept in days, but his eyes lit up when they fell on Cas.

Cas turned around rapidly, and saw Dean. Sam blinked and suddenly Dean was staggering backwards from the weight of the angel, who was currently wrapped around his body. Sam laughed as Dean hit the wall from the impact, dropping the package. 

"Guess so," Dean gasped, after he recovered slightly. He wrapped his hands around Cas, supporting him. 

"Don't you ever do that again, you son of a bitch," Cas growled into Dean's jacket, the effect lost slightly by the tremor in his voice. "You should know that I'm so pissed, that I'm not even happy to see you right now. Despite what appearances may suggest."

Then he kissed him in a furious manner, if that was even possible. "Also, I hate you."

Dean kissed him back for a while, before Sam sighed and cleared his throat loudly. Their eyes opened and flickered to Sam, remembering he was in the room, and Dean reluctantly eased Cas down, not letting go once he did. 

"Hi, Sam," Dean said brightly. Sam just laughed again, crossing his arms.

"So, mind telling us where the hell you've been, then?" Cas demanded, but with slightly less anger in his voice. 

"Kind of everywhere," Dean said breathlessly, rubbing circles into Cas's palms. "But I guess to begin with, Colorado."

"Colorado?" Cas asked, frowning. "That's where I landed when I fell to Earth."

"I had to start somewhere," Dean shrugged, reaching down to pick up the package. 

Cas's mouth opened slightly in shock when he saw it in Dean's hand, seeming to make a connection. 

"Dean," he said evenly, as though he was controlling his emotions. "That's not-?"

"Open it," Dean prompted gently, handing it to Cas. Cas took it from him and slowly opened it, revealing a small mound of tattered beige material. 

"I thought that now you have your grace back, you should have this other part of yourself back as well," Dean explained quietly as Cas carefully skimmed his fingers over the worn material. 

"No way," Sam remarked, gaping. 

"Man, you wouldn't believe how far this coat can travel," Dean said, looking somewhat impressed, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't realise how long it would take to finally track it down. I'm sorry I was away for so lo-"

He didn't get out any more words after that. 

"You are way too attached to this stupid coat," Cas muttered against his lips. "But you're also kind of amazing. In a sappy, romantic kind of way."

"I am not sappy," Dean protested weakly. 

"You kept my trenchcoat for a whole year," Cas reminded him, raising an eyebrow. "After you thought I had died. After I had betrayed you. Even though you had to keep moving it between cars. Even back then, you were sappy, and you continue to be sappy today."

Dean blushed slightly, and Cas rolled his eyes. 

"And that," Cas murmured, kissing him in between words. "Is. Why. I. Love. You. Dean. Winchester. Because you keep my trenchcoat, and you find it when it's lost."

Dean smiled in spite of himself.

It was at that moment that Sam excused himself from the room, chuckling as memories of a certain order sprung to mind. 

_No chick-flick moments._

Sam figured, feeling slightly indignant, that Dean could try and stick to his own house rules every so often.


End file.
